


From Jim, With Love

by TheTrustyArmySniper



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, M/M, Omega John, Omega Verse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 13:55:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1228945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTrustyArmySniper/pseuds/TheTrustyArmySniper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"'Protect John Watson'. That's top on my list of things that I need to do to keep you sane, clean, and alive."</p><p>Sherlock scoffed. "You're being dramatic. He's my friend. Your stupid list doesn't mean anything." </p><p>"It's also the only thing on the list."</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Jim, With Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SweetDreams828](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetDreams828/gifts).



> Sooo, I'm basically a massive douchebag. This was written for Sweetdreams828 for the Johnlockchallenges Valentine's Day challenge, and here I am, posting the first part over a week late. 
> 
> Someone should slap me. 
> 
> I'm not gonna list all the things that stopped me from finishing this on time, as it'll make me sound quite pathetic etc etc, although I will tell you it's a pretty lengthy one, all things considering. 
> 
> I will desperately try to finish the second part as soon as possible, and I am genuinely sorry that it's this late, and continues to be late... I strive to be better in the future!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> *unbeta'd*

Let's play a game. -JM

Sherlock glanced at the screen, unamused, before promptly putting the device back into his pocket. Boring. Mundane. A game? If he wants to play, he'll have to do something interesting. Obviously.

He'd been texting for two weeks now. At first, Sherlock was terrified. He searched the flat for surveillance cameras, changed his mobile number, and even stopped John from leaving 221b entirely. After a few days of nothing, though, he relaxed a little, and since then, he received three or four text messages every day. Always the same.

It had long since grown very dull.

Sherlock refocussed on the matter at hand. He glanced down at the body again, his brows furrowing as he concentrated. He stepped over an outstretched leg and leant down to examine the head. "Alpha female, early twenties. Professional hairdresser, judging by her hands. In a steady and happy relationship." He frowned then, looking closer. "But not with him."

He motioned to the equally dead man who was wrapped around her. His arm was draped loosely around her waist, their noses touching. Strange.

"What makes you think that?" Lestrade asked, his hands tucked into his pockets against the sharp London wind.

Sherlock squinted at them. "Her locket... one half of a heart. On the back are two sets of initials and three kisses. Clearly, the other half belongs to her partner. Our male victim doesn't wear necklaces; he has three earrings, two bracelets and a watch, but no necklace. They were not romantically attached to each other." A pause. "Until two days ago."

John frowned up at him. "Wait, wait... what happened two days ago?" 

Sherlock sighed. Idiots, all of them. "They bonded. See the bite mark on the omega's neck? Typical bond-forging marks."

Lestrade stood over the bodies, confused. "But, wait... if she was in a happy relationship, then why would she bond with a different omega?"

 

Play a game with me, Sherlock. -JM

 

Sherlock glared at his phone, pocketing it again. Now the criminal was sounding damn near desperate.

"That's the confusing part. I'll get there." He started pacing then. "Both of them have been dead for at least 36 hours, but they appeared here less than two hours ago. If they were here before that, they would have been wet from the rain. So they were placed here especially. But why here? And why now?"

John got up from where he'd been crouching next to the male victim, taking off his latex gloves. "Could be something to do with the flower shop next door. Valentino's." He motioned with his head towards the building on one side of the alley. "You know what's coming up, Sherlock. Do you think this has anything to do with it?"

Sherlock snorted. "Valentine's day? I can think of many things that would make me want to commit a double murder, but not having an omega of my own for a frankly pointless and pathetic holiday is not one of them."

John rolled his eyes. For an alpha, Sherlock was very good at pretending that he didn't need, or at least want anyone. And if he really didn't, well... then he was a stranger specimen than John first thought. "What about the omega?" He asked, arms crossed over his chest as he motioned to the man on the ground. "Was he in a relationship before... this?" 

Sherlock lifted the dead man's wrist up as if looking for something, then dropped it back down. "No, he was single. Cashier, lived with his parents. Same age as the female. Age and the fact that they're both now mysteriously bound to each other seem to be the only things that connect them, though."

 

Wrong, wrong wrong. I'm disappointed. -JM

 

Sherlock froze as he read the message. This was new. He glanced around then, searching for mysterious onlookers, cameras, or anything suspicious. So he could hear Sherlock talking, at least. Not good. Definitely not good. 

He kept his phone in his hand as he explored the alleyway once more, double examining all the evidence before him, before looking back over the bodies. Eventually, a slow grin spread over his face. Got it.

"A hairdresser as young and presumably inexperienced as our female victim here would earn between the regions of £15,000 and £17,000 a year. Barely enough to stay in the flat that she currently occupies, in fact. So how is it that she can afford to wander around London in a designer Balmain jacket worth more than half a year of John's wages?" 

He examined the garment now, feeling the leather with his fingertips and ignoring the sharp 'Oi!' he got from John at his remark.

He looked over at the other victim then, recalling what he found when inspecting his wrist. "And a cashier with a Rolex? Obviously not a gift, going by the scratches and dents along the strap and over the clock face. How can he afford this type of purchase?" He stood up then, straightening his suit jacket. "They can't have gotten this money legally. I think our victims may have been doing something rather unsavoury on the side of their day jobs, and they paid for it with their lives. Now, we just have to know what." 

 

Close, Sherlock. Very close. But still wrong. -JM

 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at his phone, thinking. What had he missed? There had to be something, something that Sherlock's brilliant mind had skipped over. But what?

"Sherlock... you alright?"

The man didn't bother to glance up at John, his eyes instead going to the side of the building that John had mentioned. "Fine, John. Fine. The flower shop you mentioned... did anyone speak to the manager?"

John shook his head, glancing over at Lestrade, who was now talking to a curious member of the public. "Not yet, no. You want me to go and talk to them?"

Sherlock nodded, his gaze returning back to the screen in front of him. "They will have been just opening up when the bodies were dumped here. They might have seen or heard something and not even noticed it."

"Right. Yeah, of course. Back in a minute, then." He took a few steps towards the street, before turning back slowly. He hesitated for a moment, then spoke. "Oh and, er... Sherlock?"

"Yes, John?"

"Be careful."

Sherlock frowned, turning to face him now. "It's a crime scene. The crime's already been committed, John. I'm not in danger."

John looked at the ground. "Yeah, right, yes. I know... of course." He paused, visibly embarrassed. "I just... worry. Right. Anyway. Interviewing the florist." With an awkward nod, he turned back to walk off. 

"John."

The man paused, then turned his head back to Sherlock. 

"You be careful too."

John nodded, a tiny smile on his lips, before he made his way towards the street.

***

Sherlock cursed under his breath in frustration. For ten minutes he'd been standing there, examining everything there was to examine about the two victims on the ground. But still, he knew nothing. Nothing of importance, anyway. 

He turned from the corpses with a huff, flipping up his coat collar and stalking over to Lestrade. "I'm done for now. Text me the results from the tox screens when they come through, although I'm fairly certain they'll be clear." He pulled his leather gloves over his frozen fingers. "Where's John?"

Lestrade shrugged. "Went home, I assume. One of Mycroft's fancy cars picked him up."

Confused, Sherlock frowned. "I asked him to interview the florist. Did he?"

"Wouldn't know, mate. He looked a bit flustered though. Time of the month?" Greg smirked, the smug look on his face indicating that he thought he was the funniest man alive.

Sherlock's face said otherwise. He narrowed his eyes. "And you honestly wonder why you can't get a proper girlfriend, Greg." 

"Oi! I've had plenty of girlfriends, actually."

"None that you didn't have to blow up first. I wasn't really referring to the plastic type. Good day."

He smiled tightly, then swooped under the blue and white police tape, away from Greg and the rest of the idiots from the yard before the detective inspector could even respond.

 

Giving up already, Sherlock? Boring. -JM

 

Sherlock grit his teeth, resisting the urge to smash his phone into a thousand tiny pieces. 

 

I'm not playing your games. I have more important things to do. -SH

 

He typed it out before he could even think about it, then clicked send, shoving the damn thing back into his coat pocket. That would annoy the criminal to no end, but there wasn't any going back now. Maybe he'd finally get the hint and leave him alone.

Sherlock thought back to more important matters.

So, Mycroft had picked John up at a crime scene? That was unlike him. Especially when Sherlock had been literally right around the corner. Something wasn't sitting right with Sherlock. 

What could his brother possibly want from John this time, anyway? He always hated it when he did this. This... interrupting of his had Sherlock on edge whenever it occurred. Couldn't Mycroft just leave him alone, leave them alone?

Not that they were a them, of course. Obviously not. Sherlock didn't need the type of distraction that bonding offered. For that reason, he took scent neutralisers, preventing any omegas from pawing over him. As far as they were concerned, he was a boring, plain beta, and that was the way he liked it. 

Mycroft knew that. He was a sad case; almost forty years old, and still tragically single. It was different with Mycroft, though. He actually wanted a bond mate. Sherlock most definitely did not. 

What if he knew that John wanted someone to share his life with? Maybe he thought, oh, John likes Sherlock's company. Maybe he enjoys the company of all the Holmes'. John's unbonded... I am looking for an omega...

The thought made Sherlock angry. Mycroft couldn't have John. John was special. John was intelligent and brave and incredible.

John was his. 

Oh. Dear. 

Sherlock mentally cursed. A growl had been slowly building in his throat, his pathetic alpha instincts rearing up. He wrestled them down now, putting it down to his lack of sleep, as he did most of the ridiculous and pathetically primal things he did a lot of the time. Stupid, ridiculous biology.

Where did that thought even emerge from? Obviously, he'd been letting his self control slip. John was John. He wasn't anybody's. And he especially wasn't Sherlock's. 

He took a deep breath, focusing himself, before starting off down the street in search of a cab. Moving towards the road, Sherlock held his arm out for one of the passing taxi drivers, and as the car slowed, he moved to get in.

There was a crunch underneath his foot as he did, and he frowned, spinning around to see what it was. 

He froze. No, that was bad. Very bad. 

There, laying in the road, was John's phone. 

Immediately, a thousand theories swirled around Sherlock's head, none of them good. He bent down, picking up the mostly crushed object and bringing up the welcome screen. But there was no welcome message this time; just three letters. 

 

I O U

 

Sherlock jumped into the cab, that familiar panicky feeling he felt whenever John was in danger tightening his chest and making his hands shake. 

Then, his own phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, fingers turning white as he gripped the object to read the message. 

 

Now do you want to play a game, Sherlock? -JM

 

He cursed, throwing his phone onto the seat next to him and steepling his fingers below his chin. 

"As if I had a choice. I have to play this damn game." He seethed to himself, mind working in overdrive as his phone buzzed again. He cursed, then picked it up, glaring at the words.

 

That's right. See you soon, darling. -JM xox

 

***

From the precision with which the needle was administered, John was almost certain that that one had medical training. He sat still as the tip of the needle pushed under his skin, and then as the liquid oozed into his system. He wouldn't give either of his beta captives the satisfaction of a wince in pain, or anything to indicate that this was bothering him at all. He was good at suffering in silence. 

"You'd almost think he liked all this, Nash, wouldn't ya?" He heard one of them say; most definitely the one pushing whatever drugs they were giving him into his arm. "Don't even look like he's scared or nuthin."

He refrained from shaking, as best he could, and was forcing himself to breathe as he found himself drowning in anxiety. He was close to panic, his brain filling with all of the possible outcomes of all of this. But this wasn't the first time he'd been kidnapped, after all. He had experience, and he knew what to do to keep himself from getting into any more trouble than they were already planning for him; eyes down, mouth shut, observe everything, and do what they ask. It was that simple. 

The needle was being pulled out of his arm now, and there was pressure being applied to the area to stop the bleeding. "Well, ya got nuthin to be worried about, Johnny boy. This ain't nuthin bad." He tapped the end of the needle against John's arm. "It's gonna make you feel real good. Just you wait 'n see." There was a deep laugh then, and John felt the sudden lack of presence as the man moved away from him. 

The van had stopped moving about ten minutes ago. The cotton sack over his head itched the back of his neck and forehead, and the ropes that were tied around his wrist dug into his skin so that every bump in the road had meant another stab of pain. He heard the two men moving around him, the occasional clink of metal on metal and whispered words, and he tried to concentrate on that, stopping himself from thinking too much.

He felt the panic rising in him again as he heard their footsteps grow closer; both of them now, if he was hearing correctly. "Up you get, then. Now's when the real fun begins."

He felt hands encircling his arms, and he was dragged out of his seat. The back doors opened with a click, and then there was suddenly light, shining through the cotton bag over his head. 

The two men were silent as they dragged him away from the van, and John heard as it drove away, most likely to be thoroughly cleaned from evidence or destroyed. They'd untied his ankles for this part, allowing him to at least attempt to keep up as they pulled him away.

There was the sound of another door, and then the light was gone, replaced by an ominous semi-darkness. It was much colder in here than it was outside, too, and it smelt of damp and unuse. 

Then, there were stairs. And lots of them. John tried to keep track of how many, but he quickly lost count, struggling to keep going. 

After what felt like hours, there were no more stairs to climb, and the men carried him into a room. There was a slam of a door behind him, and then their hands were letting go of his arm. He stood there, terrified and suddenly alone, unaware of what to do. 

Then, a smell. A scent, actually. Alpha. /Very/ alpha. It was... gorgeous. And almost too strong to bear. That was odd. He wasn't usually so sensitive to alpha's scents when he wasn't on a heat. And he had taken his suppressants that morning... 

Then, the alpha was moving. Slow, deliberate steps, from what he could hear. He was getting closer, too. 

John cleared his throat, his breath getting heavier as the panic rose, until he felt the alpha right in front of him. That scent... it was so familiar...

"Hello, Dr Watson. It's a pleasure to have you here." The Irishman drawled, and then there was a snap of his fingers and John fell to the ground.

***

Sherlock paced the flat, his mind in overdrive as he thought and thought. 

First, the facts; John Watson had been kidnapped by Moriarty. He didn't have his phone with him. Moriarty wasn't responding to his texts, and the only clue he had was that John had taken off in a black vehicle. 

Sherlock was going out of his mind. 

This was obviously Moriarty's intention since he began texting Sherlock. What he wanted John for, Sherlock could only imagine. And all the possibilities were horrifying beyond comprehension. He read over all the text messages that Moriarty had sent over the past few days, expecting to find a clue or something that might help. He tested for all the codes he knew, researched every seeming oddly-placed word and checked for hidden messages, all without finding anything at all. And that just wouldn't do.

He glanced at his phone again, furiously typing yet another message to the master criminal. 

 

You want me to find him, that much is clear. I'm going to need clues. -SH

 

He ran a hand through his hair, not expecting a reply but hoping for one anyway. He just needed John to be safe, and right now, he knew that he was far from that. 

 

Gosh, Sherlock, still upset about your darling Watson going missing? It's been hours. Haven't you gotten over it already? -JM

 

Sherlock resisted smashing the object off the floor in frustration, instead taking the opportunity to look for clues. Nothing. He was giving him nothing.

 

Where is he? This has gone much too far. -SH

 

Oh, nonsense. We're having a grand time. Haven't had this much fun in... oh, millennia. -JM

 

Sherlock's eyes shot open. And there it was. He grabbed his coat, speeding down the stairs as he typed his reply. 

 

I'll be there as soon as humanly possible. -SH

 

See you soon, Sherlock. -JM

 

***

When John awoke, the first thing he became aware of was the almost insufferable heat of the room. His eyes flew open, the fear striking deep as he realised the danger he was in. Calm, Watson. Observe, be quiet, keep your head down. He took a deep calming breath.

His hands were still tied together at the wrists, but now the rope was tied to a metal grate on the floor, keeping him there. When he tried to move, he found that his legs were tied to the ground too, but not together; in fact, they were as far apart as possible, each ankle tied down with a separate rope. 

The bag had been removed from his head, and he looked around the room now. The ground was covered in dust and other various bits of debris. The paint was peeling all over, leaving the walls behind them a deep black. He was facing the door, which was barely holding onto it's hinges, the wood cracked and broken off in places. 

He started to panic as he heard footsteps coming from outside, his eyes moving down to stare at the ground as the door shuffled open.

It was than that it hit him; rich, deep and gorgeous, the alpha that had just entered the room smelled perfect. John barely managed to contain a whimper, before he realised what this meant...

"Yes, that's correct, John. Ever so sorry about this, but it was a very necessary part of this procedure, after all." Jim's voice swirled around John's head, almost dizzying in the effect that it had on him. "My boys had to give you a double dosage of those heat inducers in the van to get you going, you know. Not as young as you used to be, eh?" 

He was moving closer to John now, his foot steps echoing around the room. "It's a shame that it's come to this, it really is, but there was no other way. I'm sure you'll find it in your heart to forgive me though, dear." His voice was a low, deep purr as he ran a finger down John's spine, stopping right at the top of his arse. 

"You... hmm, you bastard..." John managed, realising at the touch that his clothes had been removed while he had been passed out. He was completely bared to the room.

"Oh, you don't mean that, Johnny boy. Your reactions would certainly say that you think otherwise of me." He was in front of John again now, and he leaned in to his face, noses only inches away. He grinned, black eyes menacing.

John gave a small whimper, closing his eyes as Jim's scent surrounded him. It was too much. He needed... dammit. He needed him. "P-please..." He whispered, head bowed as he struggled in his restraints, desperate for friction. 

Jim gripped the omega's face in his hands, forcing John to look up at him again. His eyes were wide, searching John's face for something. "Please... what, Dr Watson?" He whispered, his voice doing nothing to calm John down. 

John glared at him, trying his best to keep from being reduced to a hot mess on the floor. But it was no use. "Please, I need... I need you." His hands were balled into fists as he squirmed, uncomfortably aroused and frustrated by the prickly warmth that always came with a heat. 

Jim lingered for a second, before pulling away from the man, laughing as he moved to stand in front of him. He regarded the omega on the floor. "Oh, honestly, John. Did you really expect me to want to touch you? You are a sad case, aren't you?"

John cried out, the alpha's scent still much too intoxicating to think straight. "Please, Jim, please please..." He heard himself say, embarrassingly desperate. Then, there was a beep from above him, and he froze. 

"Thank you, John. I'm sure there will be plenty of people who'll find that very interesting to hear. Starting with your dear Sherlock." He grinned, wide and menacing, as he waved his voice recorder in the air. "Patience, Dr Watson. I can see you're so very desperate. Well, I have a present for you. An apology, for our time at the swimming pool, if you will. You'll get it soon enough."

Then, the footsteps were getting further away. John whimpered as the scent faded, but his arousal remained, leaving his mind foggy and useless. Find me, Sherlock... was all his brain could come up with. Find me and make it all better...

***

 

Can't find a cab, darling? -JM

 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, cursing down at his mobile. Of course. He must have paid someone off so that the cabs wouldn't go anywhere near Baker Street. Brilliant...

He closed his eyes for a second, visualising the fastest way to his destination. He couldn't walk all the way there, obviously. It was much too far. But until he could get a cab, it would have to do. 

He took off down the street, running as fast as he possibly could. If he was lucky, he could get a cab on Oxford Street, and if not, he had no idea what he'd do. He needed John safe as soon as possible, and at the moment, he was struggling with how exactly he was planning on doing that. 

 

Hurry, hurry, Sherlock. He's getting very impatient. -JM

 

Sherlock virtually growled as he ran into the road, holding his hands out in front of him as a cab sped towards him. It stopped, the driver shouting curses that Sherlock couldn't hear or make out, and Sherlock ran to the side of the vehicle. He grabbed the handle and pulled, frowning when it didn't open. He locked eyes with the driver in the rear-view mirror, giving him a questioning look. The man gave him a menacing grin in return, before speeding away down the road, and all Sherlock could do was look on.

This was hopeless. 

 

What are you planning to do to him? -SH

 

Sherlock continued down the road, moving as fast as he could. There had to be a way there without using one of Jim's cabs. He stuck his hand out at every single one that passed, but it was fruitless. It wouldn't do. None of it would. 

 

Oh, you really are slow, Sherlock. I thought I was very clear on that one. -JM

 

Sherlock hissed, a cab rolling up next to him, just to pull away. He continued to run down the street. 

 

Tell me. -SH

 

I'm disappointed, truly I am. They were two of my best, too. I wasted them on you.-JM

 

The double murder. Of course. -SH

 

Of course. A... warning, if you will. -JM

 

Sherlock froze on the pavement. No... surely not. Not John. Not his John... But it was so obvious now. The previously unbound couple were working for Jim, and were forced into bonding. That explains why they weren't in a relationship, and the expensive clothes and watch. If that was a warning, then... he was going to do all of that to John. He was going to bond him to someone else.

He felt the anger and frustration curl in his chest, before racing down the road again, almost knocking an elderly woman over. His hands wrapped around his phone. 

 

Don't touch him. Don't you dare. -SH

 

Oh, I wouldn't, Sherlock. Not really my type, I'm afraid. But I have some friends who might... -JM

 

Sherlock stopped, panting wildly as he stood around, halting to breathe. This was hopeless, totally hopeless. He was never going to reach John in time. Even if he ran all the way without stopping, it would still take him over an hour to get there. John was in danger, and Sherlock was useless.

A car pulled up next to Sherlock on the kerb, and he stood up, glaring at the blacked out window as it rolled down. 

"Sherlock. Get in, will you?" Mycroft said, not a trace of his usual calm and arrogant exterior. His hair was ruffled, suit wrinkled and tie wonky, if only slightly. He was worried. That was never, ever a good sign. 

Sherlock didn't even argue, climbing into the car without so much as another word. 

***

John moaned again as another wave of arousal rippled through him. This was unbearable, the drugs they'd given him making his heat even more intense than he ever remembered them being. 

"Please... please, someone..." He whimpered, not even able to rut against the floor as the restraints kept him kneeling up. He felt pathetic like this, but it was nothing he could help. Not until he got his release. Oh, God, please...

"Hush now, John. Boss has something for you. But you gotta be patient." He heard someone say from behind. Beta, John guessed, as even an alpha or omega on suppressants would be noticeable when John's heat was so far gone. 

He heard footsteps echoing around him as the beta moved to his side. She gripped his arm, almost tight enough to hurt, stilling him and stopping him from struggling. "I'm under strict orders. Time for your medicine." 

It was then that he saw the needle, and he started to panic again. 

"Fuckin' hell, I always get the damn difficult ones." She sighed, before John felt a sharp sting across his cheeks. He fell silent. 

She flexed her hand, the impact of the slap no doubt making her own skin tingle. "Good boy. Hold still, now. Boss don't want you too seriously hurt." She explained, before pushing the needle under John's skin. 

He felt the liquid as it surged through his veins, and he groaned at the pain. 

"Weren't that bad. You're just sensitive. S'alright." She said, putting the needle into a lock-tight bag. She got up from her knees, dusting herself off before bringing a walkie talkie up to her face, pressing down a button on the side. 

"He's ready, boss."

***

"I thought he was with you."

"Yes, well, he wasn't, was he?"

Sherlock was pulling at his hair. Mycroft sat in the front seat, next to the driver, and he hadn't stopped talking down to Sherlock since he'd gotten into the car. He was twitchy and nervous, and it was confusing Sherlock to no end.

"Why are you blaming this on me?! We know where he is now, and I'm going to get him away from that bastard, alright?"

"Well, we need to hope you can."

Sherlock frowned, glaring at the back of his brother's seat. "What do you mean?"

"You know what he's planning. A bond doesn't take long to form, Sherlock. He could have done it hours ago."

Sherlock turned back to look out of the window. His fingers drummed on his knees, faster and faster as every minute passed. 

"I know that." Sherlock was growing tired of this now. Mycroft's panic was stupid and pointless, and it was doing nothing to soothe Sherlock's own frayed nerves.

"Well then. Stop pretending like this is all okay." He caught Mycroft glancing at him in the rear-view mirror now, and he frowned at him. 

"Since when did you care so much about John?" Came Sherlock's reply, his words sharp at the edges.

Mycroft was quiet for a moment. Sherlock heard him take in a deep breath before he spoke.

"Since you let sentiment cloud your judgement. Brother dear."

Sherlock turned to look out of the window again, knotting his fingers together anxiously. "Nonsense."

"You know it's not." Mycroft stared straight ahead, watching the road as the drove along it. " 'Protect John Watson'. That's top on my list of things that I need to do to keep you sane, clean, and alive."

Sherlock scoffed. "You're being dramatic. He's my friend. Your stupid list doesn't mean anything." He said, but his chest was aching at the sound of his name. 

"It's also the only thing on the list."

Sherlock stilled, clearing his throat as he watched the buildings pass by, each turn of the car's wheels meaning that they were that little bit closer to saving John.

***


End file.
